Wednesday, April 10, 2013

It's with a heavy heart that I tell you all that Daisy died. She passed peacefully on Tuesday afternoon. Please know how much I appreciate all of your love and good wishes that you've sent our way these past few weeks. It means the world to me.

In her memory, I'd like to share the story of how Daisy entered our lives.

Mr. Rosenberg and I had only known each other a short while. I was working as a coordinator at an outpatient program for teens with psychological and addiction problems. To celebrate three months of dating bliss, Jeff and I moved in together. We shared a 500 square foot single on the top floor of a six-story walk-up. Two weeks later he was ready to get engaged. I threw in a tiny speed bump, requesting that we wait until we had six months together to even start talking about it. Jeff countered with the next most logical commitment step: we should get a puppy.

I had lost my dear black lab, Stella, to doggy cancer five years previous. I knew I wasn’t ready for the emotional obligation of another furry pal, especially one who wasn’t housebroken, so I told Jeff that getting a puppy was a sweet idea and that we should think about it, fully intending to put it off at least until we were living someplace larger than the back booth at Jerry’s Deli.

Two days later, on a rainy afternoon, I took Tommy to Rae’s Diner for lunch. Tommy was a sweet and heavily medicated kid being treated for a number of psychiatric and developmental disorders. He talked slowly and he moved slowly. As we sat at the window with our grilled cheese sandwiches, I noticed a skinny little black dog in the parking lot. She was wrestling with a greasy paper bag she had pulled from the garbage.

“Hey Tommy, look. It’s a puppy.”

He turned to see the wet dog eating old french fries from a styro-foam container. Tommy slowly stood up from the table and then bolted out the side door of the restaurant. I watched as he ran to her and tried to pick her up. Ready to play, she took off down the sidewalk, and Tommy ran after her out of view. I had never seen Tommy walk quickly. I had certainly never seen him run.

I walked outside. Tommy came back into the parking lot, the puppy following close behind him. “We had a dog when I was little,” Tommy said. “Her name was Daisy.” When we got back to the office, I called Jeff.

“Tommy and I found this tiny starving puppy and she was eating garbage in the rain and she’s super cute and nice and I was thinking that we could maybe keep her until we find her owners or something because she’s so little and we couldn’t just leave her out there in the rain and she peed in the minivan but it’s not like you can really smell it in there or anything and I was thinking I could bring her home. What do you think?”

It sounds like Daisy was destined to become a part of your family and I am so happy that she got to be for so many years. I am very sorry that you will be missing her today.Love to you and your family.

Oh my lady... too many of these passings for you as of late - I send you all the love and all the hugs and all the kisses and all the hugs some more... you're in my heart. I'm so sorry for your loss, sistah. xoxoxoxox

I was dreading this post, Lisa. I'm so sorry for your loss. Daisy had a wonderful smile, I'm sure due to the happy circumstances in which she lived her life (especially relative to how it might have ended.) Sending love -

LIS - Such a sad day. Daisy was such an angel and that picture of her is SO PERFECT. That was her. I forgot that story of how you found her. I'm sad, getting chocked up thinking about you all saying goodbye to her. How lucky are we to have pets that happily give so much love & create so much fun and laughter in our lives? I'm going to say a Daisy prayer now. Hugs to you, Jeff and Bob and Teddy.

Huge Hugs to all. Thank you for rescuing Daisy that rainy day. She only knew a life of love while she was with you. She will live forever in your hearts. I know how hard it is now, but soon you will be able to remember her without tears and with laughter. I will light a candle to help her see the way to Rainbow Bridge, where many of my babies will be there waiting to show her the ropes.

What a wonderful story. My son lost *his* dog at Christmas time and a couple of weeks ago we got a new dog much earlier than I expected, but she needed a bilingual home as we live in an English community and she's French (seriously). Its opened a good kind of floodgates in all of us - every day we honour Little Bear in some way, often through stories like yours or through Tilly, our new dog's antics, I'll be sharing this with my son tomorrow. Daisy looks very much like Little Bear,

Thank you for sharing your story of Daisy. Kinda breaks my heart in some ways but makes it smile in others. We had a street dog named Buddy who developed a similar tumor after we had him for about 5 years. Like you, I was grateful for the time we had between the diagnosis and his passing. I had a kinder gardener, 1st grader and 12 year old at the time. It was the first family grief that we experienced together. Buddy taught us a lot about unconditional love as I'm sure your sweet Daisy taught you. Blessings to all!

I'm so sorry, lady. Losing a pet is heartbreaking. When we lost our Greta, my husband and I locked ourselves in the house all weekend and cried. Now, I find myself looking at my dog - Chi-Chi Boom Boom (her street name) - and feeling terrified that she's getting so old. I've had her since before I met my husband and she's seen me at my worst and my best. Ugh.

We will throw some balls for your Daisy at the bark park this weekend. Love you.